Fire and Ice
by Severus' Malfoy Maiden
Summary: REWRITTEN. Multiwizard fic. Hermione soothes the dangerous beast with song. Antonin Dolohov, Lestrange bros, Snape. Magical inheritance and dark, smutty scenes.
1. Chapter 1: The Awakening

_Disclaimer: I own nothing__  
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_Fire and Ice  
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_Chapter One: The Awakening_

"Hermione," he whispered, softly trailing his fingers down her cheek. "Are you sure?" he asked, looking deeply into her coffee colored eyes.

She nodded, her expression filled with worry.

He entered her swiftly, feeling her thin barrier tear.

She gasped and tightened her grip on his bare shoulders. "You okay?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.

She blinked back the tears and nodded, giving him a small reassuring smile. "I'm okay," she repeated back to him.

She sat outside, Transfiguring trees and other plant life into household décor for practice, thinking about what had happened earlier.

She was glad it was him. They weren't in love nor were they together in a romantic sense, but since they'd gone on the run, she'd felt this overwhelming urge to experience life.

They were going to die soon, she was sure of it, though she would never say that to Harry or Ron, but she felt it in her bones.

_Soon life will come to an end and the war will go on without us; it will be fought without us_.

She'd woken up that morning and told Ron what she wanted. He was surprised at first, but happily agreed.

He had been tender and careful and loving. It was …nice, for a first time, but it had left her wanting.

Her mind drifted to Harry. She'd entertained the idea of asking him, but that seemed strange. He was family to her.

She loved Ron – she loved them both, but Ron was different. He wasn't like her brother, the way Harry was. She knew all of his flaws and accepted them and he accepted her and all of her flaws.

She thought about the three of them when they began this hunt and how they would talk about how they were going to defeat the Dark Lord without him even being aware; just three teenagers. Then, before bed, she would sing.

They loved her voice and gushed about how she would become a famous singer when this was all over and how they would be able to tell her fans that they knew her when she was just: Hermione Granger, war heroine. They'd all laugh and drift off to sleep, preparing themselves for the next day.

That rarely happened anymore. The hunt and the Horcrux they alternated wearing took its toll on each of them, lowering their morale and darkening their optimistic view of what the future held.

She sighed and returned the plant life to its natural state. Hermione could see the sun rising on the horizon. They would need to pack up soon.

Wanting to wash up, she stood and smiled, listening to the soft snores coming from inside the tent. Walking down to the stream, she disrobed and gingerly stepped into the water. It was cold and she shivered; goose flesh pimpled her skin.

Bending her knees, she submerged herself in the near-frigid waters, relishing its ability to wash the fatigue from her limbs, the soreness from between her legs and refresh her mind. She took a deep breath and plunged in completely. It was cold and she had to fight back a yelp when her head was covered.

Under water, she started lathering up. When she stood again, she heard voices. They were coming from the direction of the tent and they weren't familiar. She jumped out of the water and dressed in a flash.

Soaking wet and still a bit soapy, she arrived with clothes clinging to her skin and her hair matted to her face and head.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" the dark haired wizard sneered, his eyes roaming her slender feminine form.

Harry and Ron weren't out yet, but the snoring had stopped. "What do you want?" she snapped in a whisper, standing away from the tent in the hope that they would follow her.

They did, but only so far.

"What's a pretty little girl doing in the forest all by her lonesome?" The wizard that spoke was short, round and dirty.

She lifted her eyebrows, feigning superiority. "Bathing. Perhaps you should give it go," she retorted.

In the next instant, she felt immeasurable pain. It was searing and persistent, and flowed through her body at an alarming pace. It brought her to her knees. She turned towards the mouth of the tent just in time to see Ron and Harry emerge with wands drawn.

She smiled, or what felt like a smile, at her would-be rescuers before her world faded to black.

She woke to the sound of moaning and sniffling. Her entire body was aching and so sore that she slowed her movements in order to give herself time to adjust to the waves of pain. She opened one eye, squinting in preparation for bright light, only to find that she was not in the tent or in the sun with her two friends staring down at her, but instead she was in a dimly lit room.

The walls were stone; there was one metal door and no windows. As her eyes circled the small room, she jerked at the sight of Harry chained to the wall. He was dirty, beaten, and bloody, and he was sniffling. Tears were coursing down his cheeks and his lips were chapped and quivering.

"Harry?" she croaked from the floor.

He stopped crying immediately and exhaled in enthusiastic relief. "Oh, thank God! I thought you were dead!" he said from the wall, rattling the chains that bound him.

Just then, Ron groaned and his breath gurgled. Hermione moved quickly, her body screaming at her to slow down. "Ron!" she cried, coming to his side.

He coughed and his eyes fluttered, but he didn't wake.

"What happened?" she asked Harry, her voice not sounding normal.

"We were ambushed. We thought they had killed you," he sobbed, but continued. "There were too many of them." He shook his head in defeat.

She swept Ron's red bangs from his face to assess the damage to his boyish face.

"Do you know where we are?" she asked, turning back to face Harry. She could feel her hair, clumped and stiff from letting it dry and not combing it.

"No," he said. He looked utterly hopeless, which sparked a rage inside of her. _How dare he lose hope_! She thought violently.

But then he was looking at her again, with those green eyes, pleading and sorrowful. Her anger dissipated and she stood, only wincing slightly at the sore muscles.

"How long have we been here?"

He didn't say anything, just continued to look at her. "Harry!" she hissed. "Think! How long?"

This seemed to get through to him. He pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. "I dunno, maybe a couple days; maybe three."

"Has Ron been unconscious the whole time as well?" she asked.

Again, he shook his head. "No. They've come a few times. They take us upstairs and torture us for entertainment," he spat, giving Hermione a feeling of relief at his still-present fire. "Ron was brought back just a little while ago."

There was more gurgling from the floor, where Ron lay. He coughed and spit up blood.

"'Mione?"

She knelt down. "I'm here, Ron."

"Are you okay?" he asked, opening one eye, though it looked painful. The other was swollen shut.

She was crying. "Yes, Ron, I'm okay. I'm so sorry…" she started to say, but his coughing fit interrupted the apology. When he was done, he said, "Nothing to be sorry for."

She swallowed and looked around for a bed of some type, water perhaps. Harry, reading her thoughts, answered the unasked question. "There's nothing."

Days went by with little to eat, only enough to keep them alive.

The Trio saw the same four Death Eaters daily. She was startled to realize one of them was Severus Snape. The first time she saw him she gasped, but didn't say anything. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, but then Ron started coughing and the trance was broken.

Severus and the other Death Eaters ignored her for the most part, or at least, they didn't speak to her, but she did notice that they glanced at her much of the time when they came to get one of the boys.

They only ever chained Harry. She didn't think they saw her as a major threat, so they didn't chain her and Ron was too sick, too beaten, to fight back.

The first time she was taken upstairs by herself was three days after she'd awakened and then twice per day after that. She was made to watch as they tortured Ron; they never tortured Harry while she was there.

She recognized many of the Death Eaters present: Yaxley, McNair, Bellatrix, Fenrir; those were the ones that made her pulse race with fear.

She was not so out of her mind with fear to observe the way that _her_ Death Eaters, who she now knew were Severus, Antonin Dolohov and the Lestrange brothers, watched her more blatantly than they had previously. Their expressions were stoic, but there was something different about the way they looked at her.

She'd noted that they usually came in after she stopped singing and not a second before.

Rabastan Lestrange seemed nervous when he had to bring her upstairs. She could see that clearly, but he wasn't sneering or malicious towards her.

Rodolphus just looked hard and something else, though she couldn't put her finger on the emotion. It was akin to the way he would look at Rabastan when the Dark Lord called him: worry for his little brother. She thought she was just imagining it.

Hermione was placed on her knees in front of an empty chair. It was a throne really, but still, vacant. She wasn't tortured; unless you counted the ache in her knees and back torture, which, after an hour, she did.

When Antonin came to collect her after what seemed like hours upon hours, she took in his scruffy appearance and morose expression – he looked tired. She realized that they were prisoners here as well, just in a different capacity.

One night, after kneeling for an entire evening, Antonin picked her up to take her down stairs. He was always so gentle with her. Hermione stumbled trying to walk down the stairs, but before she fell, he swept her up and carried her down. She thanked him and made note that he had the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen. Later, she'd shrugged it off as being delusional from not eating and fatigue.

That night, they got an extra piece of bread and some cheese with their paltry meals.

Ron didn't eat, he tried, but he couldn't keep it down. They had been given a large bucket for evacuation purposes and so he had just made it before vomiting.

She was sure the smell inside the bucket made him throw up more, though she didn't say anything about it; only dipped her fingers in the small amount of drinking water and cleaned his lips when he was done. She gave him her water that night and sang him to sleep with his head on her lap for comfort. She'd lost her appetite and gave her food to Harry.

Harry's legs gave out the next day. His wrists were raw from hanging from the shackles, and he just didn't have the energy to stand any longer. Breakfast was served and again they received the extra pieces of bread and some cheese.

Hermione, once again, dipped her fingers into her water and soothed his skinned wrists, helping him to stand. She fed him, as per the usual, and smiled when he indicated that he was done.

The door opened and Antonin and Rabastan walked in. They were looking at Ron.

She panicked. "Take me," she blurted, knowing Ron wasn't strong enough to handle another bout of the Cruciatus.

"We were given orders…" Rabastan said, but was interrupted when she flung herself to her knees and bowed her head at his feet. "Please, take me. He'll die…"

Another man stepped forward, one who she knew to be Rabastan's older brother, Rodolphus. "Take her. He doesn't care, he's just bored. I'll look after Mr. Weasley," he said. His voice was deep and calm, almost …sad.

Antonin nodded and gave Rabastan a short glance. If she hadn't been feeling so forlorn, Rabastan's next action, or rather, the manner in which it was carried out, would have shocked her into speechlessness.

As it were, he bent down and carefully, gently, wrapped his large hands around her upper arms and pulled her up. "Granger," he whispered to get her attention. Not Mudblood; he had called her Granger.

She lifted her head and let him pull her to her feet. The look in his eyes made her mind reel: fear, compassion, and tenderness swirled in the oceanic depths.

Her face shot to his brother's and the man, who had previously scared the living daylights out of her, gave her a brief nod. In that one moment, these pureblood supremacists let her know that they were no longer on opposite sides; the brief nod let her know that they would not harm Harry or Ron whilst she was away, nor would they harm her.

Rabastan helped her up the stairs. Half way up he stated, "You have a lovely voice."

This was turning out to be the strangest day; it was surreal. "Thank you," she replied, furrowing her brows in confusion.

Not wanting it to be the end of the conversation, he spoke again. "We heard you singing to the blood traitor."

"We?" she asked not commenting on the reference to Ron.

He nodded. "Rodolphus and I, Dolohov and Snape," he told her. "Are you feeling better with the extra food?" he asked in a whisper.

She nodded, near tears for his kindness. "Thank you," she said in a shaky voice.

"Is there- Is there anything else I can…" he was going to ask her what else he could do, but she stopped him by squeezing the hand holding hers. "Unless you want to carry a bath tub filled to the brim with scalding hot water and a ton of soap, no. But, thank you," she said and offered him a small smile.

They reached the top of the stairs; all the while he had had one hand warming the small of her back and the other holding her hand, steadying her gait. It was a very kind gesture in Hermione's mind and she wondered if he was a gentleman with all the ladies. He was certainly handsome enough to have witches throwing themselves at him.

She then chided herself; he probably was, pureblood wizards were, if anything, gentlemen -just not to her.

They stopped when they reached the large room with a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Rabastan bowed and left her to stand alone.

"Ah, Miss Granger, I wasn't expecting you," the Dark Lord said, eyeing Antonin Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort's tone promised punishment for the rich purebloods for not bringing the requested individual.

She felt the sudden urge to protect them. "It was me! I wouldn't let them take Ron," she exclaimed.

She could feel all eyes on her, boring into her very soul. Bellatrix quickly walked forward and backhanded Hermione. "You dare speak to our Lord, filthy Mudblood!"

Hermione stumbled, but didn't fall. She whipped her face around and glared at the crazy witch; anger and hatred filling her eyes.

The red eyes of the Dark Lord watched, interested in Hermione's reaction and the flicker of silver in her eyes at the moment. The air in the room changed. It was subtle, but Lord Voldemort felt it.

He spoke with a smirk, ignoring the assault by the Lestrange witch. "You?" he drawled.

Hermione nodded confidently and jutted her chin in defiance.

Surprising the entire room of Death Eaters, he laughed. It was heavy and deep and chilling. "_You_ didn't _let_ them take the blood traitor? A slip of a girl didn't let three of my most feared Death Eaters take Mr. Weasley!" The last was an incredulous statement of knowing disbelief.

Hoping to end his humor, she squared her shoulders and hissed, "Well, this slip of a girl effectively downed three grown Death Eaters my fifth year and evaded you and your minions for months!"

Severus Snape was watching from the shadows and had he not been so worried for her welfare, he would have rolled his eyes at her bravado.

That statement made her captor laugh even louder. "Severus, you didn't tell me that the lovely Mudblood was such a ball of fire; how entertaining."

Severus stepped out of the shadows and bowed. "Forgive me, My Lord, I didn't find it very entertaining while facilitating a class," he drawled.

"No, I guess you would not."

"Young Master Malfoy, come forward," Voldemort directed.

Hermione watched Draco swallow and bow in front of him. Draco's back was to her, but she thought she noticed his hands shaking slightly. "Yes, My Lord?"

"You've spoken of her quick mind and how she bested you in your studies, but you failed to mention how very attractive she is. Why is that?" he asked, his red eyes never leaving her brown ones.

Draco was stumped. He'd always felt a pull towards her, but he didn't understand why.

He was not attracted to her romantically and her status as a Muggle-born disallowed any civil discussions to get to know her.

As he got older, he tired of the fighting and wanted to speak with someone who shared his academic pursuits; he wanted to befriend her. Sometimes that urge was so strong that he wished for death to release him from the obligations of his heritage.

And then she'd disappeared.

He hadn't seen her in over a year and in that time, she had matured more than he had ever thought possible.

He was jarred out of his conundrum when the Dark Lord spoke again. "Do you fancy her?" It was a leading question.

"Not particularly, My Lord," he answered, hoping that would suffice.

He watched the Dark Lord give a poignant look to his father, Antonin Dolohov, and Rodolphus Lestrange and then back to Draco.

Draco remained silent.

The Dark Lord sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Alas, I was looking forward to entertainment from the redhead. His cries send my spirits soaring." He said this staring at Hermione, who was fisting her small hands and clenching her jaw in anger.

"But since Miss Granger wouldn't _let_ him be taken…" He chuckled at the thought and then, just like that, he stopped. "I am no longer in the mood for that type of distraction."

She relaxed infinitesimally. Though, his abrupt mood swing left her a little dizzy, she was glad he wasn't _in the mood_.

Voldemort waved her away and Antonin was at her side in a flash with Rodolphus and Snape, ready to take her back downstairs. "Let's go," Antonin said quietly, stiffly taking her elbow.

The gentleness with which they handled her made her heart melt. These were not the men she had grown to hate and fear. These men were something different.

"Thank you," she whispered as her breath hitched.

Antonin nodded to her, but didn't reciprocate.

Her legs almost gave out going downstairs, but Rabastan and Antonin caught her and Antonin ended up carrying her, once again, bridal style, the rest of the way.

She was so tired; she dropped her head onto his chest and was almost asleep when she heard the metal door open. "We're here, Granger," Rabastan said, his voice filled with regret.

She nodded. "Thank you, again, all of you."

Severus spoke, leaning in and looking her in the eyes. "I'll try to get you some tea with honey, Miss Granger. Until then, keep your head up," he said, tapping the bottom of her chin with his finger.

Her eyes welled up at his words and she nodded, unable to speak.

"Rodolphus fixed a pallet for Mr. Weasley. We couldn't bring more blankets as they would be missed, but it'll do," Rabastan added.

She turned to look at Ron. He was lying on top of a thin pallet with some rough looking blankets, but he was clean and looked warm, resting peacefully. She was almost jealous of the fact that he was clean.

Her breath hitched again and she nodded her thanks. "There's nothing we can do for Potter," Severus said with an edge to his voice. Hermione chose to ignore it; some feelings just didn't go away overnight.

She took his hands and squeezed them affectionately, then looked at Rodolphus with appreciation at his act of kindness. She found him the most interesting. He was married to a woman who had tortured Hermione, but still, he treated her with care.

Antonin was interesting as well, he hadn't spoken to her yet, though the way he touched her and the emotion in his eyes when he looked at her was intoxicating, soft, caring, loving and just generally sweet. He was a contradiction. She knew he was one of the most feared, and that he was the one who held her during the Department of Mysteries, but even then, he'd only been rough in voice; his touch had been gentle, but firm.

They left with a parting glance at her seated on the hard floor next to Weasley. She had started to quietly sing. They waited by the outside of the door, listening to the caged songbird inside. Her voice was like a warm balm, soothing frayed nerves and raw emotion. It called to their souls like nothing ever had. It was strange the way she affected them all.

Antonin would need to think on this.

Severus and Rodolphus just felt off balance. This was not normal for them, this feeling of compassion, and yearning.

Rabastan was eager to get to know her, and scared that she would be taken away. The pull he felt was palpable.

Once the door closed, Harry spoke, "Consorting with the enemy?"

She frowned and stopped singing. "They brought us more food, Harry, and made a bed for Ron," she pleaded, a little annoyed at his rancor.

"You look well. Tell me, what kind of torture did they perform?" he asked, quirking a brow lasciviously.

Her frown deepened. "What are you on about, Harry?"

"The way that the Lestranges were looking at you and the way Snape practically drooled over you; I think maybe they fancy you. Perhaps, you fancy them, too?"

She chose not to respond to those allegations and instead, dropped her head back against the cold concrete stone and closed her eyes. Singing always made her feel better.

She must have drifted off, because the door opened and Harry was dropped inside the cell. He had no bruising and no cuts. He wasn't sweating or panting in pain. He was just being roughly treated.

Rodolphus was looming at the door, staring down at the boy-who-lived with an expression of distaste.

It softened when he spied her open eyes. "Miss Granger, you should eat," he softly admonished.

She looked to where he had indicated and found a tray with bread, cheese, water, and hot tea with honey, waiting for her under a Stasis Charm.

Harry had his own tray with the same thing, excepting the tea.

She immediately turned and woke Ron enough to force him to drink some of her water.

Harry scoffed and she looked up sharply at him.

Before laying into her best friend, formerly known as the boy who was like a brother to her, she looked at the large wizard still standing at the door. "Thank you," she said.

He tilted his head at her. "You're welcome." He shut the door and waited outside, hoping to hear her yell at the Potter boy.

She didn't disappoint.

"What's your problem?" she asked, failing to keep her tone even and herself calm.

Her anger made Harry angrier. "My problem is that I'm here, in this cell, with you and Ron! I am chained to this bloody wall and must watch while you bat your eyelashes at Death Eaters like a bitch in heat and then fuss over Ron!"

Rodolphus palmed his wand and lurched forward, but was stopped by a grip to his arm. He turned angrily to confront the person who dared to man handle him. He relaxed momentarily; it was Severus. "You mustn't," he said quietly.

She stared dumbfounded at the wizard who she loved like family. "You're jealous," she whispered incredulously. She started to laugh, not believing that after everything that had happened, everything that they had gone through; Harry was jealous that she was attending to others. She just could not believe it.

"I- I soothe your wrists, I feed you and I-" She shook her head. She didn't know what else to say. The previous laughter had transitioned to tears.

"You didn't pick ME!" he yelled all of a sudden.

She was appalled. They were at the mercy of the Dark Lord and Harry fucking Potter was mad that she had chosen Ron to take her virginity.

In another time, in another place, with other people surrounding them, she could fathom this conversation, but here, now, with Voldemort upstairs, she couldn't.

So, she didn't.

Shaking her head, with uneven breath, she scooted back towards the corner and sat cross-legged, letting her head fall back to close her eyes and sing to herself. Before she drifted off, she heard his chains rattling and him yelling at her to wake up and talk to him.

Snape and Rodolphus just looked at each other. "You think she and the Weasel are together?" Rodolphus asked not liking the idea of that and not understanding why.

In fact, he felt somewhat repulsed at being attracted to a nineteen year old girl.

Never mind that she was a Gryffindor.

Never mind that she was a Muggle-born witch.

Never mind that she was best friend to Harry Potter… though, if she ever discovered the Potter boy's secret, Rodolphus could line through that last item.

"What'll she do if she finds out?" Rodolphus asked.

This time Antonin answered and startled the two men huddling in the dark, like children spying on their parents. "You mean _when_ she finds out," he said.

Severus nodded in agreement. "She's a clever one. She'll put two and two together soon enough; that is, if she doesn't get herself killed," he drawled.

Potter was still raging, but they heard nothing from her. They soon left, each lost in his own thoughts.

Something wasn't right. Harry was seething, hanging from the iron restraints and glaring at her, but silent. The room was dimly lit as usual and she wondered randomly if her eyes would ever adjust to the sunlight again. She smiled, thinking of the sunlight warm on her face, and then frowned.

She couldn't hear gurgled breathing. She couldn't hear anything. The room was quiet, with the exception of the occasional clink from Harry's chains.

Her eyes bolted to Ron's still body. He was pale, and the skin below his eyes were shadowed with a blue tint. His lips were parted, dry and not moving. She half-crawled half-slid to his side and checked his pulse.

Nothing.

She started screaming, "Ron! Ron! Wake up, Ron!"

She was shaking his heavy limp body with as much strength as she could muster and wailing for him to wake up, teasing him with everything and anything she could think of.

"Ron, your mum is here and she's cooking. Ron! Ron, please, Lavender misses you! Wake up, Ronald Weasley, right this minute!" she said the last with a firm tone. He had always responded to the mothering tone.

He didn't move. He was dead. He'd taken his last breath while she slept.

She sobbed and pulled his dead weight, so that she could hug his shoulders. She was rocking and holding him and crying. "No, no, no, no, Ron," she'd say between violent catches in her breath.

In tears, she buried her face in his neck, and that's how they found her, hunched over his still form, sobbing and rocking.

Harry hadn't said a word.


	2. Chapter 2: Revelations

_Knowledge_

Hermione was positively terrified.

It wasn't a foreign feeling, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it was somewhat debilitating. She was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other in a conscious effort to walk forward.

It was slow-going, walking down the hallway, but she did it and she could feel Professor Snape just a step behind her on her left. She felt the warm presence of his hand, hovering near the small of her bare back.

They approached large wooden double doors. She stopped to take a calming breath; it didn't work of course and she was unsure of how she would be able to sing when her entire body felt like a tightly wound spring.

Severus stopped with her. He'd been walking behind her at a snail's pace, but he wasn't going to rush her. How could he, in good conscience, push her forward, knowing that if she displeased the Dark Lord, she would die a long and painful death?

Normally, he wouldn't be concerned with long and painful deaths; not now, anyway. It was laughable that he would be concerned about acting 'in good conscience'. Who was he kidding?

He took the moment before they entered to look at her. He hadn't seen her for over a year, and in that year, she had grown into a lovely young witch. Her normally wild mane was twisted in a chignon, and held in place by a silver comb. She had curled tendrils dripping down sparingly, giving her an innocent presentation. She wore only lip gloss that highlighted her plump strawberry lips.

He smirked. He was sure that she never would have dressed this way.

His eyes fell to her dress. It was simple and form fitting. The front was flat, hugging every curve with a high cut over her thigh that bared one full, long, lithe, delicious-looking leg each time she took a step.

The back was cowled, revealing the pale skin of her back in its entirety. The dress hung so low as to allow the dimples on her lower back, just above her bum, to peek out.

The very slight jiggle of her rump when she walked gave way to further naughty thoughts as he realized that she wasn't wearing knickers… or a bra for that matter. She was naked under that dress.

He eyed the doors. He could take her now, just walk out, but then they would never have peace. They would forever be looking over their shoulders for anyone who could be bought. He sighed. "Miss Granger, we must – "

"I know," she interrupted and started walking again.

With a fortifying breath, she pushed open the doors and entered the large room filled with Death Eaters.

She looked around, unconsciously trying to find someone she knew, someone from who she could draw comfort. She found the solemn, but slightly encouraging eyes of her school-days nemesis: Draco Malfoy.

The corner of his lips twitched upward and she found herself returning the gesture.

She looked to his left to meet the bright cerulean blue eyes of Antonin, and next to him the blue-green oceanic eyes of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange.

Curiously, having the Lestrange brothers, Antonin and Severus here, gave her the slightest excitement. She wasn't attracted to Draco, but she didn't hate him. She wanted to get to know him better.

Antonin and Rodolphus watched her every move and the intensity of their stares made her blush.

It was like they were devouring her with one look. This confused her, but there were more pressing matters at hand, like making the Dark Lord happy so she wouldn't be pulled apart by angry giants and then her body parts thrown into Black Lake for the Squid to eat.

Well that was a rather graphic thought, Hermione.

"Miss Granger, you're right on time," said the Dark Lord.

The Death Eaters, of whom she didn't know, parted down the middle and Voldemort walked through as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea.

He walked up to her and gathered her hands in his.

She frowned; his hands were warm and soft.

He smirked. "Expecting scales and cold skin?"

She nodded without thinking and then stopped, raising her head with wide eyes. "I'm sorry… I mean…I-," she stuttered in an attempt to rectify her mistake.

She was further confused by his mirthful reaction. He smiled, and it was then that she noticed his appearance had changed. He was not the snake-like wizard she had seen earlier. He was now tall with dark hair and full lips. He looked normal, handsome, even.

He hadn't let go of her hands as she had expected, instead he squeezed them comfortingly and led her to the small stage. "Severus has charmed your …gadget to play music, then?"

She was feeling a hundred different emotions and none of them made any sense at all: fear, excitement, frustration, a rush of adrenaline, sexy... "Yes, sir."

"Then without further ado, Miss Granger. I am eager to hear you sing," he said, moving back from her, taking a seat and waving his hand. It was a signal for the Death Eaters, her audience, to be seated.

She chanced one last look at Rodolphus, Rabastan, Antonin, and Professor Snape before she began. They nodded. She felt safe, at least, for the time being.

The lights were hot against her back when she stood after picking out a song. It was fitting, but she was still a little frightened. Her shoulders trembled and her knees were weak, but she remained standing and tried to focus on the song she was about to sing.

She hadn't sung it in a while and she was worried that her voice, with all that's happened recently, wouldn't hold up, but she would try.

_Perhaps death would be a blessing_.

There was excitement in the air, which was strange, considering they all knew it was the Mudblood who would be entertaining them. Still, everyone was dressed to the nines and the house-elves were walking around with trays, filling glasses of wine and offering cheese and chocolate.

Hermione scanned the crowd and saw Lucius Malfoy. He looked tired, too.

Draco's mother had fled during his fourth year and they had found out shortly thereafter that she had been killed. Lucius refused to allow her body to be buried in the family plot.

Hermione wondered if either of them was angry at Narcissa's escape and subsequent death. Hermione speculated that the loss of a mother's touch and comforting soul had screamed its dearth for Draco in the years after, but she hadn't known the woman so couldn't say for sure.

Hermione tilted her head, in another life, Draco and she could have been friends; perhaps, even confidants.

They were all sitting together, the Malfoys, the Lestranges, Antonin and Severus. It seemed they took comfort from each other, separating from the general population of the Death Eater crowd. Maybe just knowing they weren't alone, made all the difference in the world.

Hermione found Bellatrix, not sitting with her husband. That point made Hermione want to sneer… in a good way. She was glad the woman wasn't near Rodolphus – it was that thought that had her clenching her teeth and eyeing the woman. Hermione paused and realized that she was jealous of a Death Eater's wife.

Bellatrix was a powerful and cruel witch. She was also mad as a hatter.

She'd hooked her claws into the most powerful wizard and to Hermione's knowledge, the Dark Lord bedded her frequently.

Rabastan looked at his brother, hoping Hermione did something soon. The younger Lestrange wanted to carry her off stage and …what?

He just wanted to be near her, to touch her, and he was certain the elder felt it as well. He wondered what Rodolphus would do about it.

As if reading his brothers mind, Rodolphus looked into echoes of his own blue-green eyes. "Don't fret, Rabastan. We'll figure something out."

Rabastan nodded and an image flashed in his mind of when he was a little boy. He'd had to strain his neck to look up at Rodolphus. His brother had looked down at him, smiling and ruffling his hair.

Being ten years older, Rodolphus had been larger than life to Rabastan. Rodolphus could do no wrong in his eyes.

Now-a-days, Rabastan understood that his brother was a wizard and no more. Just a man with feelings and flaws; and now, it was Rabastan who cast his eyes downward to meet his brother's stare – albeit not much; Rabastan was only an inch or two taller, but still, it was something.

When they were waiting, the door had opened, and Rabastan had caught his breath. A vision in red entered with his Severus right behind. The man's onyx eyes were looking downward and Rabastan knew exactly what he was looking at: her bum. He'd never thought of the Potions Master as a bum man, but apparently, he was.

Rabastan, himself, was a leg man and the amount of skin showing from the slit in her dress made him salivate at the thought of touching the silky looking skin of her slender leg.

All four men stiffened when the Dark Lord grasped her small hands in his larger.

Rabastan coughed to cover up a chuckle when she agreed that she was expecting scales and cold skin.

Rodolphus was practically drooling in response to the lovely young witch in red and as he glanced over to Antonin, he noticed that the dark haired man had swallowed more often than necessary as the little chit walked in.

She stood, looking at the group, waiting expectantly for her to sing. Singing was always a method for her to cope with life's little stresses.

This was so much more than a little stress, but she decided that she would just close her eyes and picture herself singing to her mother. The warm smile on the woman's face: encouraging and honest. Hermione missed her.

The music started and Hermione's body started to tremble.

Her voice was low and shaky to begin with:

_Remember those walls I built, well baby, they're tumbling down and they didn't even put up a fight, they didn't even make a sound_.

Her voice cracked slightly at the octave change, but she recovered quickly.

_I found a way to let you in, but I never really had a doubt, standing in the light of your halo I got my angel now_.

It was stronger now and she looked at the four men as she sang. She took a deep breath and carried onward.

_It's like I've been awakened, every rule I had you breakin', it's the risk that I'm takin'; I ain't never gonna shut you out. ___

_Everywhere I'm looking now, I'm surrounded by your embrace. Baby, I can see your halo, you know you're my saving grace. Everything I need and more, it's written all over your face. Baby, I can see your halo, I pray it won't fade away_.

Voldemort sat mesmerized by the powerful voice of the small Muggle-born witch.

She'd started shaky, but she was no longer. Her voice was strong and clear and melodic.

She was looking at someone while she sang. He turned and smiled.

Antonin and Rabastan. _Interesting_.

Her eyes shifted and she focused on Rodolphus and Severus. _Very_ _interesting_.

Her voice was exceedingly unusual and he wondered if there was a story behind it. He pulled out a gold pocket watch and thumbed it tenderly.

Click. The music stopped.

She was singing to the four who had helped her and Harry; given them extra food and stayed with her after Ron passed away. They were her angels; she could see their halos.

_Hit me like a ray of sun, burning through my darkest night. You're the only one that I want, think I'm addicted to your light_.

At that moment, Hermione felt a shift in atmosphere. It was like her magic paused and she struggled for one split second to catch her breath. She blinked and continued to sing, but filed the strange occurrence in the back of her mind for analysis at a later time.

_I can see your halo. I can see your halo. I can see your halo. I can see your halo_.

The song was ending and her voice was dark and potent with velvety undertones. It burst from her mouth like a hurricane of melody: loud and strong, it was beautiful.

The song ended and Hermione waited and watched. Her audience was captivated with her. The silence was deafening and she wondered if they expected her to continue.

"Bravo, Miss Granger!" Voldemort said, clapping and walking to the center of the room.

Her eyes shot to the seat in which he was previously occupying and she wrinkled her brow. He couldn't have got up and walked to the back of the room without her noticing.

She couldn't continue her thought process, because the room erupted in roaring ovation.

Rabastan was beaming, Professor Snape looked dumbstruck and Rodolphus and Antonin were expressionless as per the usual, but their rather enthusiastic clapping belied their adulation for her singing quite clearly.

"Miss Granger," he called, his voice rising above the applause. It died down and she looked at him quizzically. "What do you know about your biological family?" he asked.

_His phrasing is odd_, she thought.

He was smiling now and it gave her the creeps. She shivered as the hair on the back of her neck rose in anticipation of the conversation that was to occur.

She remained silent until he turned his attention to the group of his followers, sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for him to speak.

"Miss Granger, you are not your mother's daughter," he announced and with that small declaration she knew.

He didn't have to continue, she knew. She'd known her entire life… in the deep recesses of her mind, in her heart of hearts. Though no one had ever spoken the words, she knew.

…but how did he know?


	3. Chapter 3: She knew

_**I Know This Much is True**_

He put his hands out, silencing the murmurs around the room. She stood, staring at him in wonder and disbelief. His eyes stared straight into her soul, mocking and taunting her.

"Tonight is a night of revelations, my loyal subjects," Voldemort said, smirking with his thin lips and breathing deeply through his nonexistent nose. The two slits flared for a moment then returned to their normal state.

"Many of you will be surprised to find out that the lovely Miss Granger and some of you share lineage."

She was now close to trembling with rage. "We do not share anything, but the space and air between us!" she hissed, her hair crackling with electricity and magic.

Severus felt like he couldn't catch his breath, but he didn't look away from the two.

She was mesmerizing, standing there like a lioness, baring her teeth.

Voldemort smiled. It was menacing and evil and filled with sheer glee at her show of wrath. His eyes also paused at her bosom long enough for her to notice him licking his thin lips.

"Oh, but you do, young Hermione, you do. However, you are a unique case, indeed. Your power and strength are rare in Muggle-borns. You can't deny it. Most Mudbloods don't grasp magic like you have. They can't control their magical core and don't draw the attention that you can with your mere presence." He walked, barefoot, towards her. His movement was graceful and languid. It could be considered casual in other circumstances.

He waved his hand around, motioning for her to look around at the sea of faces.

Once satisfied that she had taken note, he stepped closer and gently grasped her chin.

She jerked her head away from his touch, thrashing her hair in her face. She looked at him in between strands, her jaw set, her nostrils flaring with anger, chest heaving with heavy breaths.

He was certain that any moment, he would see smoke coming from her ears and steam spilling from her mouth.

"You are considered a daughter of the River God Achelous. A powerful seductress through your use of song and voice: A Siren, Hermione.

"The three who called sailors to their deaths were the most infamous, but there were more. An island full of Sirens; they were great warriors and although small in numbers, their ruthlessness and strategy during war, and advanced fighting skills gave them a superior repute.

"The Sirens were women; witches, who lured Muggle men for the purposes of procreation. The sons of Sirens were forced into either the Muggle world or into the wizarding, depending on their birth rights. My mother was such a Siren and my father a hapless Muggle. I was sent to an orphanage." He stopped there, pausing reverently, as if she should feel sorry for him.

She did, of course, but he didn't need to know that.

He smirked as if he'd read her mind.

He inhaled suddenly and turned away from her, addressing the group of people.

"Your mother was also a Siren, Hermione." He faced her again and walked to her.

"But she was as captivated as he. He," he said, referring to her biological father, "…was a Veela; a wizard of exceptional power and allure. Together, they created you. A creature of unimaginable power and magnetism; part Veela, part Siren.

"Normally, a child born to either species: Veela or Siren, would be capable of calling whomever her heart desires, but the fates have decided that you are the exception," he paused again for effect.

She thought he was quite dramatic for a Dark Lord. She would've thought he would be above theatrics.

"Your magic calls to only those who are of similar magic. You can't reel in unsuspecting wizards for your amusement. Your magic will only align itself with another of equal or superior power. It can't be denied and will reject those who do not reflect suitable prowess."

He smiled at her. "If your magic calls to one and you reject him for whatever reason, he will go mad. If your magic calls to one and they do not respond, he will go mad. Interesting, yes?" he asked casually. "Though, your voice will appeal to most."

She was put out, put off and generally irritated; at herself, at him and at the glaring truth of his statements. She was also mildly annoyed at his penchant for alternating between addressing her by her given and her surname.

She huffed and he swore he did see steam rising from her nostrils.

So, people were drawn to him, because of his power, because of his parentage, because of his completely annoying habit of looking at people like he could see into their minds.

Rumor had it that he was a skilled, even more skilled than Dumbledore, Legilimens, but still. It was off putting!

"So we are of similar heritage," she snapped. The crack of her voice was a mixture of boredom and disinterest.

He nodded and then looked passed her. "Your father was an interesting character; it took some digging to discover his identity." He was still looking past her, wearing a curious, if not smug, expression. She turned to follow his gaze to two handsome blond men; one shaking his head in denial.

Her head snapped around to face Voldemort. "Lucius Malfoy?" she squeaked, not ready to believe that she and Draco were half siblings.

Voldemort laughed. "No, dear, Abraxas Malfoy is your father." Of course, after that declaration, she wished that she and Draco were the siblings and not she and Lucius.

Draco felt like laughing and Lucius looked like he was about to faint.

Hermione was shaking her head no. She wrapped her arms around herself in an unconscious act of self-protection and started to walk, her feet moving of their own accord.

She found herself standing in front of Severus, Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Antonin was just behind them. She couldn't see him, but she could sense him. "How?" she asked. It came out raspy and she was looking into Rabastan's eyes, but she cleared her throat and turned to face Voldemort. "How?" she asked in a clearer voice.

"Surely you know about the birds and the bees by now, Hermione," he teased.

She was breathless, shocked into being uncomfortably numb. "I mean… ugh! I don't know what I mean."

"Fortunately, for you, I do know what you mean." He looked at Lucius and beckoned the older man. "Abraxas had left to find a cure for Dragon Pox. What he found instead was a young Siren named-" He looked at Hermione.

She whispered, "Charis."

He nodded once. "Lucius, come. Meet your sister." The tone was most jovial and he looked positively enthusiastic.

She was so flabbergasted she laughed. It was slightly hysterical and she wondered what Harry would think if he knew.

A glance at Lucius confirmed that he felt like she did. She watched him force his legs to move forward.

Draco practically skipped to his new aunt.

Then she started crying. Tears coursed down her cheeks. She was still standing near the four men. They itched to draw her into their warmth. To keep her safe, to comfort her; Rodolphus clenched his fists and the Antonin stood ramrod straight.

Severus couldn't control himself; he slowly reached for her and brushed his finger over her arm. It was enough to cover her skin in goose flesh.

"Your magic has chosen," Voldemort said. His tone was soothing, his manner was nonthreatening.

Her head snapped towards him. "What do you mean? How do you know all this? How can you be sure?" she asked.

"I've done my research. I'm sure you can understand; I dislike mysteries. Your magic has chosen. You're drawn to them. You sing to them. You seek comfort near them and they can't resist. At this moment, they fight with themselves. Do they obey their magic or me?"

"They should obey their magic," she found herself replying.

He arched a brow. "Should they?"

She nodded and turned back to the four men. She looked at each of them and closed her eyes, feeling her magic as it reached out to them. She parted her lips, exhaling at the unfamiliar sensation of her magic swirling around them. It was strong and strangely liberating.

She felt a strong, but gentle hand on her arm. The mix of magic was different, but not uncomfortable. It was warm, but not seductive. It was safe, but not peaceful.

She opened her eyes to find herself looking into Lucius' gray eyes. In that moment, she knew; they were family and that was it. They were bound by blood from a common sire.

He would protect her as his sister and she him as her brother.

He nodded as if understanding her thoughts, then walked to stand by Draco's side. The younger Malfoy was smiling; the first genuine smile in years.

She sighed and felt like crying. "You should rest, my dear. You have much to think about." She heard Voldemort say.

She nodded, expecting to be taken back down to the cell. "Gentlemen, won't you escort your witch to her quarters in the east wing. The room at the end of the hall. The elves have prepared it for her."

The men nodded and waited for her to turn to face them.

"Will you – I mean, will you …" she wanted to ask a million questions, but didn't know how to form them.

"We will have many conversations, Hermione. I will be at your disposal in regards to the information you seek. Lucius will be here as well to school you on the Malfoy ancestry; you are family, after all."

She didn't trust him, not in the least, but right now, she needed to know more. She knew in her heart that he hadn't lied to her.

She began to feel faint and swooned slightly. The magic near her was heavy and intoxicating. Her mind was hazy and whirring with thoughts and information. The men parted and motioned for her precede them to the door.

"Miss Granger?"

She stopped and turned half way to face him. "Yes?" she asked softly. Standing near him was Bellatrix, who looked murderous. Her dark wild eyes bounced between her husband and Hermione.

Finally, they fixed on Hermione's and she sneered. Hermione felt the vile repulsion and hatred the woman emitted with a single stare in Hermione direction.

"What shall we do with Madam Lestrange?"

The magic, the heaviness, the anger, the jealousy, the information, the power, the need for revenge – it all circled Hermione, seducing her, pulling her to a darker place. "Kill her," she said in a husky voice. One that sent a shiver of ice down the backs of those present.

Voldemort smiled and nodded. "As you wish, my dear."

Rodolphus didn't bat an eyelash, while he placed a large hand on the small of her back, leading her out of the room.

They departed to Bellatrix screaming profanities, her voice laced with fear.

The men just followed her, their eyes watching the sway of her hips as she navigated the path to her rooms. It was instinctive; she knew the way. She only needed to know her wizards were behind her.

They arrived and she pushed open the doors. The room was beautiful in shimmering purples and calming golds and creams. It was luxurious and feminine and beckoned her to make it hers.

The bed was huge; outfitted with four posters and sheer cream fabrics hanging from the tops of the posts. The wind blew softly, rustling the light-weight curtains.

The doors to the veranda were open. It was dark out. She breathed in the fresh air and walked outside. Rolling green hills and fully bloomed gardens were her view.

Still feeling hazy and sluggish, she pulled off her gown, revealing her lack of under clothing. The men watched her closely and swallowed heavily when she bared herself to them. It wasn't a sexually motivated action, but their bodies reacted anyway.

They watched as she let down her hair and moved to turn the covers. She climbed under the silky sheets and sighed.

Her magic touched them and they knew she didn't want them to leave; in fact, she wanted to feel their warmth and security around her.

They were her servants now and they couldn't think of a better way to spend their lives but as the protector and lover of a magical being of this stature.

Once they crawled into bed, Hermione was spooned by Rodolphus and faced Antonin. Rabastan and Severus lay on the outside of the bed.

"So tired…" she whispered.

"Sleep, my love," Rodolphus rumbled deeply behind her.

She 'hmmmm'd' and in another moment they were all sleeping, her magic settling over them like a blanket, mixing with their magic and as if they were playing in the stars near the milky way, they got acquainted with their mistress.

Her last thought was of the life she was to leave behind. Harry would hate her.


	4. Chapter 4: This much I know is true

_Lemons_

Antonin woke by opening his eyes. He was alert in a split second, but his body hadn't moved an inch. It tingled at the soft touches of her fingers across his nipples.

The night air was cool and that combined with her ministrations, pebbled the peaks.

Her eyes were open and she was looking at his chest; muscled and hairless, she seemed fascinated with it.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, continuing to touch him. She wasn't expecting a response, only stating a fact.

He slowly moved his arm to slide his hand down to the indent of her waist. They were facing each other, and while her hand traced around his chest and nipple, it was blocking his view of her rather plump looking breasts.

Her burning gaze made his cock twitch.

He watched as a large darkly tanned hand, so contradictory to her own pale skin, slid up her flat stomach to cup her breast.

She parted her lips and arched slightly.

Pressing her bum against his erection Rodolphus inhaled, bucking slowly, seeking heat and friction.

Antonin watched the two. He couldn't tear his eyes from hers. She continued to pinch and touch his chest and nipples while Rodolphus gently pinched and touched hers.

Rodolphus' low grumble of frustration vibrated against her back. "I need in, love," he said and moved his hand from her breast.

Antonin immediately replaced it with his.

Her breasts were lovely: soft, round and pert. His mouth started to water.

Rodolphus pulled her cheeks apart and positioned the swollen head of his cock at her entry.

He slowly pushed forward, but stopped just after the cap breached her wetness.

He was gritting his teeth and breathing hard. "Are you untouched?" he panted, sounding strained.

She felt the others stiffen.

Severus and Rabastan were, of course, awake, but had yet to reach out to her.  
Having Hermione Granger's magic call to yours was one thing, deflowering her was something else entirely.

She grunted at the intrusion. "No, but … just the one time." Her voice was young and breathy. She was gripping Antonin' chest firmly as Rodolphus's entry was uncomfortable, bordering on painful.

He pulled out and slowly pushed back in, still gritting his teeth. It was slightly painful for him as well. She was wet, but it was a very tight fit. He continued the pattern or pulling out and pushing in, stretching her and gaining entry.

She was mewling now and seeking support from Antonin by squeezing his chest and shoulders.

She never once told Rodolphus to stop, but it was painful and she felt the wetness from tears slip down her temple. Her body was bowed with her breasts arched towards Antonin and her bottom against Rodolphus, her mouth was open and her brows furrowed.

Antonin thought it was the most beautiful sight. She was making the most delicious sounds of pain mixed with pleasure. Her labored breath indicated that Rodolphus' cock was too large for her canal, but he pressed on, stretching her. Antonin's hand slid down her body and separated from her skin to stroke his throbbing member.

Rodolphus was gripping her hips now, looking at his progress. He noticed the pink tinge to the cream on his cock.

He'd made her bleed.

She was wet and warm and squeezing him like a vise. "Deep breath, Princess."

Antonin couldn't wait to see the expression of pain mar her face. It was mesmerizing; the sight of a creature this powerful in pain, and because it was an act of debauchery, well, it did something to a man.

His cock swelled and his grip hardened.

He watched Rodolphus rush in, making her scream in distress as he buried himself inside of her.

Antonin came with a hiss, gripping her hips, splashing her stomach with his release. The expression of pain and her anguished cry as Rodolphus forged into her was enough to provoke Antonin' climax.

Rodolphus had slowed, but hadn't stopped. Slowly, in and out, he continued his body shaking with how good she felt. So tight, her velvet walls sucked him in and surrounded him like a tight hug. His lip beaded with sweat and he could feel the wetness of Antonin' release on his fingers.

"Does it hurt, Princess?" He pushed in harder and she keened and arched in response, an expression of pain and pleasure masking her face. Rodolphus was hard as a rock. He didn't want to harm her, but he savored her pain.

"So, beautiful," came the deep velvety voice to the side.

Severus was watching quietly. His eyes sparkled like mirrors from the moonlight they were so dark.

Rabastan, in the midst of elder wizards, said, "Make her come, I want to see her lose control."

They agreed, nodding and watching with half lidded eyes. Rodolphus shifted his angle and lifted her leg.

Once her legs were spread, Rodolphus' measured strokes made her cry out, "Yessss!"

She didn't know who or what to touch, her hands slid around seeking purchase.

Antonin grasped them in his, intertwining his fingers with hers. She squeezed and pleaded, but no words were forthcoming.

She needed something more. Hermione looked at Rabastan and her eyes begged him as she grunted and panted and cried out in pain while Rodolphus spread her wider.

Rabastan moved around his father and placed a tentative hand on her womanhood. She hissed and bucked, wanting more.

"Wait," Rodolphus ordered.

He moved to the top of the bed, and leaned back against the head board while continuing to thrust shallowly.

Her back was sweaty and stuck against his chest with her legs were hooked around his knees.

As he spread his knees, her thighs opened, revealing the puffy lips and swollen bundle of nerves waiting for attention.

Rabastan licked his lips and raised his eyes to meet hers.  
She gave him a pleading expression and he lowered himself to her. Soft licks and gentle touches had her coming inside of a minute while Antonin pinched and pulled her nipples.

Her inner walls pulsed violently, forcing the seed to spill out of Rodolphus and into her.

He climaxed with a surprised grunt.

Rabastan lapped at her until she floated down from her cloud.

She opened her eyes to Severus clearing his throat. "Miss Granger?"

She turned to him, but didn't respond verbally. "You must let us down now," he said.

She tilted her head and looked at him quizzically.

He looked pointedly at the far end of the room. She followed his gaze and gasped in surprise that they were eye-level with a large portrait of some unknown wizard, who was wearing a very satisfied look on his face.

The bed was floating as were most of the pillows and chairs in the room.

Severus and Antonin cast a Cushioning Charm a nanosecond before reality hit her and they all went crashing to the floor.

She yelped and held onto the sheets, but the deafening roar of furniture, toppling from the ceiling never came.

She opened her eyes to four wizards smirking at her. Her hair was mussed; the bed sheets were askew and pooled around her small form. Her naked body was glowing from the moon light and the perspiration from the physical exertion.

She was sitting on her knees, her back was straight and her arms dropped down by her sides. Her breasts lifted with the rise and fall of her breathing. She looked innocent, youthful, and sexy as hell.

Severus, who was having trouble keeping the saliva out of his mouth, leered at her and moved forward. "Let me clean you."

She was expecting a Scourgify charm or maybe even a wet towel, but not this.

He pushed her backwards to lie against the fluffed pillows and kissed her softly. She closed her eyes as his tongue probed gently into her mouth, lovingly dueling with hers for dominance.

He pulled back and kissed his way down to each nipple. She arched and went to keep his head in place, but found she couldn't move her arms. She looked around to Antonin and Rodolphus, who had bound her hands to the bed.

She was nervous; her nether region was already starting to throb in pain or pleasure, she wasn't sure.

"You bleed," Severus said tenderly.

Rodolphus' cock was already coming alive from the sheer amount of male pride.

Hermione's breathing increased as Severus gently stroked her bruised labia. She found herself warming along with the puffs of breath she could feel from his mouth to her thighs. She slowly parted her thighs to give him more access while she watched his face move closer to her core.

He kissed her pussy; open mouthed and wet, she dropped her head back in pleasure.

He scooted up on the bed and pushed her knees to fall to the sides. He kissed, licked, and nibbled all the while swallowing the juices of her coupling.

She tasted like ambrosia, soft and sweet, musky and potent. He tasted the coppery hint of blood and relished it in the darkest recesses of his mind.

He drove his tongue deeper and deeper inside of her used tunnel. It was still tight, he knew. He could feel her walls contract around the fat of his tongue.

As he fucked her with his tongue, he opened his eyes to meet hers. She watched him through the valley of her breasts, the dip in her stomach and the rise of her mons.

Her arms were outstretched and her knees bent and lying open to the sides, while he feasted upon her like a man starved. They maintained eye contact, increasing the intensity of the act.

He wanted to see her face in the ultimate release. He hmmmm'd and she mewled, nodding her head. His teeth found her clit, bracing it while his tongue flicked back and forth until she was practically sobbing for release.

He let go and pressed the flat of his tongue on her, rubbing back and forth, increasing pressure until she bucked and arched with spasms.

The bed trembled, but didn't rise.

He wasn't expecting her to recover so quickly and didn't brace himself for her, when Antonin and Rodolphus released her bonds she jumped forward knocking them off balance and tumbling forward off the bed and onto the floor.

He grunted on impact and then hissed as she had already righted and impaled herself with his cock.

It was a tight fit and she had grimaced for a moment in pain while he slid inside, but once there, she rode him. Her breasts bounced with each jerk of her hips and each thrust of his cock.

He looked up and found the Antonin and the Lestrange men watching in various states of arousal.

"Hermione… Hermione… yessss," he said as he thrust upwards once more in orgasm. He felt her walls pulse and noted that she had stiffened.

She kissed him then; an all-consuming kiss that licked her essence off his face.

She stood, uncaring of the seamen leaking from her cunt. "I need a bath," she said and walked to the luxurious room and claw foot tub. She took a moment to appreciate the beauty.

Rabastan followed, starting the water and ensuring the right temperature. "Bathe with me?" she asked.

He nodded and undressed. That is to say he took off his boxers and tee shirt. His body was lithe and muscled. He wasn't thick like Rodolphus, but he was toned and sexy; strong-looking.

He was turned away from her and she wondered why. She tilted her head and pulled his elegant hand to her. He was embarrassed. His erection bobbed against his stomach and he tried to cover it with his hand. "Don't," she said.

He swallowed and stepped into the tub first then held her hand while she stepped in.

She had a beautiful body, and he knew that it had nothing to do with her magic calling to his. He'd been lusting after her since she was a fifth year.

He sank down and pulled her with him. They laid in the warm water in silence.

There was a large window in front of the tub; together they watched the dark moon rise higher and higher until it disappeared. "What time do you think it is?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "Maybe three a.m." His voice was deep and quiet. Her head was resting on his shoulder and his fingers were gently running through her hair.

"How do you feel about all of this?" she asked.

"How do you feel?" he asked her in response.

She huffed in humor. "I asked you first."

He chuckled. It was a rich sound she liked immediately. She found herself unconsciously comparing it to Harry and Ron's, who, in her opinion, cackled like hyena.

Rabastan's was so much more subdued. "I can't say that I'm unhappy." He kissed her shoulder. "I've noticed how you've… grown up in all the right places, Granger."

She turned her head to face him, smiling. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry… about the Weasel. I know you and he were…"

She shook her head no. "We weren't. We were friends and I asked him to …ummm, take my virginity."

She was a little embarrassed by her confession.

He frowned. "You _asked_ him to?"

She nodded.

"Why?"

This time she shrugged. "I thought we were going to die and I didn't want to die a virgin. No one had ever wanted me like that before and I figured that since I lacked the …feminine wiles that were needed to … ah…"

He stopped her. "Wait. What are you saying?"

She huffed even more embarrassed. "I know I'm not pretty, but we were friends. I thought that he wouldn't have too much of a problem granting my request."

He started laughing. It was still rich sounding, just louder.

She sat up, glaring at him. His skin pimpled with the cool air flowing in after her warmth was removed.

"I'm sorry, but you're gorgeous. How could he not want to bed you… often?" he asked.

She shrugged and he pulled her forward. "Can I kiss you?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, please," she answered and lifted her chin to meet the softest kiss. One that she would never forget.

They kissed softly and it was everything she thought a kiss should be. His hand slowly slid down her wet body to find her breast. His touch was tentative, but not uncertain.

Rabastan squeezed her entire breast instead of just the nipple, causing her to arch into his hand.

He pulled back and settled them in the water once again. His hand was still kneading her breast. "Are you sore?" he asked. His voice didn't speak of hopeful opportunity; she felt it was a genuine question, one that implied he was concerned for her.

She nodded, enjoying the feeling of his warm hand on her breast.

"Severus will have a potion for you."

She nodded again, moving her hands up his thighs, massaging. He was placing soft, wet kisses on her naked shoulder and she started to feel her cunt throb again, but it had nothing to do with the large breach of sensitive skin earlier with Rodolphus. It had to do with the sensations Rabastan was eliciting. His erection was bobbing in the water between his legs and her back. She longed to feel more of it.

"How old are you?" she blurted. She knew of Rodolphs and Severus, she was even fairly certain of Antonin's age, but the younger Lestrange was a mystery. The two of them seemed to have more in common as far as what made them laugh, but …

"Twenty-nine."

It didn't make sense, she was certain she'd heard Mad-eye talk about him participating in the torture of the Longbottoms. That was twenty years ago. "I was ten," he said, addressing her confusion.

She didn't speak, hoping he would continue. "Our father, you see. He told Roddy that he would kill me if he didn't go and then Imperioused me."

"They sent you to Azkaban," she whispered quietly, horrified that a child was sent to the scariest place on earth.

He nodded. "Right after my first year at Hogwarts. They put me in a cell with Sirius Black. Now, that was a treat," he said wryly, but she was still horrified.

Rabastan didn't want to talk about it anymore. She felt him smile. "You've starred in my fantasies for quite some time, Granger."

They were silent again, listening to the ripple of water from Rabastan's hand playing with her breast. It was now teasing her nipple, alternating between the right and the left. She, unrealized by her, had begun to push back against his erection in small pulses.

His other hand was trailed a path with his finger from her underarm down to her hip and back up again.

She closed her eyes and focused on the movement, shivering from the feathery touch.

She leaned back, pressing against his hard member. "Tell me about one of your fantasies," she whispered.

She felt and heard him exhale. After a moment, he shook his head. "I know you hurt, Hermione, and I don't think I would get through the entire fantasy with you naked and wet and me touching you without spreading your legs and filling you."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

He groaned, but it was half pleading and half desire that made her smile.

He cupped both of her breasts with both his hands now, his thumbs brushing back and forth across her nipples.

Laying his head back and with her relaxed and laying against him, he began. "I'm in a forest. It's dark and stormy, mostly windy. There are cliffs and I can hear the water down below crashing against the rocks.

"I walk out from the trees to a grassy meadow and see you. You're wearing a white night dress. It's almost transparent in the wind and you're walking towards me. Your hair is blowing to the side like it's alive.

"You stop in front of me and I pull the garment off your body. You're naked and I can only think about putting my lips and tongue in you.

"I bind you in the air, your arms and legs splayed like Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man.

"I kneel down and look up. I can smell you. Your clit is level with my mouth and I lean forward, suckling your flesh like a calf would his mothers' teet.

"You taste so sweet and urge me to suck harder, but I don't. I want to make you wait.

"Your juices spill down my chin and still you call me to let you come.

"I won't.

"I open my mouth to catch your nectar, licking you and pushing my tongue inside of you. I can feel you fighting against the bonds I've cast; you want to spread your legs farther apart for me, push my head closer, but you can't. My magic is too strong."

She smirked. _Of course, his magic would be too strong in his fantasy_, she thought wryly.

She gasped in surprise when he pinched her nipple rather hard, bringing her back to his fantasy.

"Focus, love," he chided. It was quietly said, but his tone brooked no argument or disobedience. She remembered that these wizards were dangerous men; they weren't the boyhood friends who she'd spent her time.

She nodded and listened to his voice once again.

"Now, where was I?"

He waited for her to answer.

"You were – you were sucking my clit," she said.

He smiled. "That's right. I didn't want you to come yet. I wanted to hear you beg me, scream at me to let you come."

She nodded, breathless. "Rabastan?" she ventured.

He kissed her shoulder again and bit her ear lobe. "Hmmmm?"

"I want you in me, filling me." Her voice was tentative and wanton. Her heart raced and her blood burned through her body. She swallowed, hoping he would say yes.

His fingers had walked slowly down her flat stomach; they hovered closer to her swollen bead. She could almost feel her clit pulse more violently in order to reach his fingers.

His finger grazed the kernel of flesh, making her buck. "Yes," she hissed.

He wanted her; plain and simple. He wanted to bury himself inside of her and never come out, but he had no desire to hurt her and he knew the damage Rodolphus did would take some time to heal, along with a healthy dose of Severus' Pain Potion.

Still…

He stood as if he had made a decision and helped her out of the water. Still dripping, she stood naked and glorious in front of him. A water droplet was hanging from the tip of her nipple.

He moved forward and caught it, sucking, bringing her soft nipple to a hard peak.

"Get on your knees," he ordered.

She complied immediately. "Head down, Granger. I want to see you… all of you," he directed, though his voice was raspy.

Hearing him move behind her and then feeling his warm breath on her thighs provoked another rush of warmth to her sex.

He slid on his back, placing his face under her womanhood.

Rabastan inhaled deeply. It was heaven and he could have come right then.

She whimpered when his lips wrapped around her clit and just like in his fantasy, he sucked slowly. She could feel the gentle tug of the suction, but it wasn't enough friction to make her come and she so wanted to come.

He held her steady with his large hands on her hips. Her knees were spread and the flesh of her vagina was over his nose – she wondered how he was breathing, but she could hear him, so she wasn't too worried.

She was moving her hips, trying to get the pressure needed for climax. He wouldn't let her move, just continued his ministrations.

She was begging now. "Please, Rabastan, please…"

He pushed her hips up suddenly and slid out from under her. Positioning himself behind her, he pressed in slowly, filling her.

They closed their eyes at the sensation.

"Oh, yes, oh, yes…" she was saying, rocking her hips with him.

She was very tight and he felt like he was going to come soon. He drew out of her and pressed hard back in, hitting her cervix, making her cry out.

He did it again and again and she cried out each time. The last, he stiffened and spilled his seed inside of her. His fingers moved and he pinched her clit, drawing a gasp of pleasure from her as she climaxed again.

They crawled into bed; her place in the middle, Rabastan and Severus on the outside and Antonin and Rodolphus close to her. Rodolphus pulled her into his embrace. "All right, Princess?"

She nodded and gripped his wrist to keep his arm close.

She fell asleep again, sated and very sore. She would definitely need to ask Severus for pain potion in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5: Lemons

She opened her eyes and wanted to cry. Her nether region was on fire. "Drink this," a deep voice said. She took the vial, grateful that he was there when she woke.

The purple liquid eased the sharp ache to a dull throb. He held up a small container. "This is witch hazel for external use and this," he held up another container, "is for -"

"The inside?" she supplied.

He nodded. "You'll need to take it easy for a few days while you heal."

His voice was clinical and direct and she wondered if she had been imagining his interest last night. He put her fears to rest a second later. "I want you to be ready for me, Hermione."

Her eyebrows rose and her mouth formed a perfect 'O'. He didn't smile, but his eyes darkened, if that were possible, and she read desire in their depths.

"The Dark Lord would have you dine with him. You have an hour. Drink another pain potion before you leave. It's sitting on the washroom counter. I'll not have you wincing in pain when you sit with him," he said.

She nodded, taking the containers; then something occurred to her. "How's Harry?" she blurted.

"He's well… Hermione, perhaps you and he should have a talk."

"Do you think he'll hate me?"

Her eyes were wide and she looked very young to Severus. He shoved the self-loathing to the back of his mind not wanting to ponder the fact that she was quite a bit younger than he and his former student.

There was not to be done about it now. His magic had responded, quite enthusiastically, to her calling.

"Will you dine with us?" she asked, thinking not, but she wanted him there just the same.

"No. I must return to Hogwarts. The Order will want to know what's going on."

She nodded again and the question popped into her head. The urge to ask was so great, she couldn't fight it. "Where does your loyalty lay, Severus?" Her voice was a whisper and she had leaned closer to him to ask.

He gave her a penetrating look and answered with a sureness that made her insides turn to goo. "With you, My Lady. My loyalty lies with you." With that he stood, kissed her cheek and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Petal had been there to help her prepare for a late lunch with Lord Voldemort. She wore a pretty pink silk wrap dress and cream colored witches robes. Her hair was left loose with the front and sides held atop her head with a lovely gold clip.

She entered the drawing room, where she was met with Tom Marvolo Riddle and not the Dark Lord she knew him to be. His hair and eyes were the color of hers and he had flawless pale skin. He was in his early thirties with a smile that would charm the knickers off McGonagall.

"Hermione, you look like a fresh spring day. You slept well?" he asked, motioning her for her sit.

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, thank you. How was your evening?"

"Routine, my dear," he said.

She didn't dare ask what 'routine' meant. Torturing Muggles? Burning down the homes of so-called blood traitors? Practicing the Morsmorde? There were a myriad of things that could be considered 'routine' where the Dark Lord was concerned.

He offered her an indulgent smile, as if he'd, yet again, read her mind. He probably did…

"I spent a quiet night in the library, having a rather one-sided conversation with a visitor."

Now she felt bad, but honestly, what else was she supposed to think? Then she felt sympathetic and nodded. "One-sided conversations can be dissatisfying. Perhaps, we can remedy that?" she chirped, feeling better. If she could do nothing else, she could have a long drawn out conversation on just about anything.

He chuckled – an honest to goodness chuckle. "I was hoping you would say that, but first we must address the elephant in the room."

She looked at him quizzically and waited for him to continue. "I will not apologize for who I am, Hermione. I am Lord Voldemort. I do not believe nor do I want equality among wizards. Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards serve their purpose, but it does not put them on equal footing with wizarding families like the Malfoys, Notts, Lestranges and such." He let that sink in and waited for her questions.

"What purpose do you believe we serve?" she asked, putting herself among the Muggle-borns in reference.

"You, Hermione, are not a Muggle-born, so stop thinking like one," he chided with an edge to his tone.

She swallowed and nodded for him to continue, letting the question stand.

He smirked. She was not one to back down and though she didn't press the issue, she didn't retract the statement either.

"To dilute the gene pool," he answered and looked at her as if it was the only valid answer.

It wasn't something she could dispute. She had been known to argue that the pureblood gene pool was corrupted from too much in-breeding and if it hadn't been for Muggles and Muggle-borns, the wizarding world would be filled with either the physically deformed and/or the mentally challenged.

He went on. "Half-bloods such as Severus are rare."

She frowned. "Why is that, do you think? Magic comes from the earth. I've read that there were some who were gifted magic by the Gods, but mostly, magic can be attributed to the lay lines having magical flares. Well, that and magical inheritance, if you will.

"Wouldn't all magic be considered equal? Goblin magic, or even elven magic is stronger than a wizards. They can do things we cannot and they don't need a magical tool to focus their magic. We need our wands… well most of us do, anyway."

He listened to her thoughts and opinions and questions with a tolerant smile. He enjoyed conversations that flowed freely, without fear of retribution. She didn't fear, or if she did, she didn't care about the consequence. It was refreshing.

"Muggle-borns aren't built to accept magic. Their souls or spirits fight with it, resulting in weak spells and inaccurate charms. Most of them are inaccurate with Potions. Their magic isn't strong enough to help the ingredients mix with each other. In the rare case their essence merges with the magic gifted them; they stand out and rise above the fray."

"It doesn't mean they should be relegated to slavery or prostitution or death," she said.

He gave her pensive stare and sighed. "It's the cycle of life, Hermione. The most ancient and primitive practice: survival of the fittest. Each species follows the strongest of the pack. They lead and care for their subordinates and use the weak to the benefit of the whole." He paused.

"The Ministry is corrupt. People like Cornelius Fudge walk around with their hand out and dismiss or ignore the chaos surrounding their communities.

"They allow our schools to teach to the least talented students. More often than not, those are Muggle-borns. Thus, making the smart suffer stupid ad nauseum. What does this result in? Wizards and witches who don't know how to think critically, wizards and witches who are unable to be resourceful, wizards and witches who are unable to do anything , but what they are told." He stopped; she was practically bouncing in her seat, wanting to say something.

"But isn't that what you are doing? You tell your followers what to do and they do it. You aren't allowing them to think either!"

He smiled as if he knew something she didn't. "Hermione, I share with them my goals and allow them to accomplish it however they deem fit. Sometimes, there are jobs that I know some witches and wizards are better at than others. For instance, I wouldn't send Lestrange to the Ministry to lobby, I would send Lucius."

She huffed and gave him a wry smile. "So you delegate."

He chuckled again.

Someone entered the room and bowed. "Ah, Mr. Potter, so good of you to join us."

Hermione sat, open mouthed and awe struck.

"My lord," Potter said, kneeling.

"You may rise, dear boy. Won't you sit?"

Hermione's eyes followed every inch the dark-haired wizards path as he made his way to a seat.

"Hermione, you look pale. Are you well?" Voldemort asked with mock concern and an evil glint in his eye.

She finally tore her gaze away from 'Mr. Potter' and gaped at the smiling visage of a snake.

"Ah yes, introductions. James Potter. Hermione Granger. " His voice had an almost gleeful chirp to it. It made her uncomfortable. She wondered if he became this giddy when he was torturing Muggles.

Torturing Muggles; this seemed to be recurring image in her head.

"Madam," Harry's father greeted with a nod of his head.

"Mr. – Potter."

She looked expectantly to Voldemort. He responded by saying, "Sing something for us, Hermione. I know Mr. Potter would be as taken with your voice as the rest of us."

_Us? He felt a draw, too_? She wondered.

She wondered if he knew how often Harry and Ron had put her on the spot to sing something. She inhaled and wondered which song would be appropriate…

James was staring at her, waiting.

It was strange; he looked just like Harry, but not really. Their demeanor… their auras were completely different. He looked like he was just a shell of a wizard, not the animated jokester Remus and Sirius had described.

Her voice was soft as she started.

_I took my love and I took it down. I climbed a mountain and I turned around_.

_And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills 'til the landslide brought it down_.

James leaned closer, his dark brown eyes never wavering from her lips.

_Oh mirror in the sky what is love?___

_Can the child within my heart rise above?__  
_  
Her voice was strong and clear and James was breathless as she finished the song with her eyes closed and her fingers splayed on her lap.

She had swayed with the song in her head even though she was singing a capella for them.

A haze was clouding James' vision throughout the song and when he returned to his senses there were four other wizards in the room, standing at the door.

He knew them and sneered. They ignored him for the most part with the exception of Snivellus. He returned the sentiment with a sneer of his own before kneeling.

"Gentlemen," Voldemort greeted.

"My Lord, forgive the intrusion. We-" Rodolphus attempted to explain.

Voldemort held up a long-fingered hand. "It's quite alright. Tea?"

Antonin, sensing that they should bow out gracefully, answered for them all. "No, thank you, My Lord." That was the first time Hermione had heard Antonin speak recently. His voice was like dark winds and black gravel and held a slight eastern European accent. It made her shiver.

Voldemort nodded his approval and looked to Hermione. She perked up at the expression. He was giving her leave to bid her wizards good-bye even if she'd just seen them. She stood and kissed each softly with a smile.

They left with a billow of robes.

"My Lord, why did they come if they had no purpose?" James asked, contempt in his tone.

The Dark Lord smiled. "Hermione, you have questions." It was a statement, not a question.

She sighed with relief. "Yes, thank you!" She shifted to face James.

"You've been alive all this time? Why didn't you take Harry from your sister-in-law?"

He shook his head sadly. "I couldn't," he said.

She raised her eyes in surprise at his short answer. "You _couldn't_?"

"I…" He dropped his face in his hands, shaking his head. "Ugh."

"Mr. Potter?" she asked, leaning forward to touch his forearm. The man was obviously distressed.

"I couldn't, because I wasn't aware. I wasn't living," he nearly sobbed.

She was confused and her face reflected it.

Voldemort nodded. "I didn't end Mr. Potter's life. I merely put him a… stasis," he said making a circle with his hand, indicating he was searching for the right word. It also gave an air of nonchalance, like putting someone in a twenty year coma was a normal activity.

Her astonished expression focused on Voldemort. "Why would you do that?"

"I wasn't sure if I'd need him in the future. I'm nothing if not a patient man."

Frowning, she asked, "How long have you been… awake?"

"Seven days."

"Have you met Harry?"

"Yes," he ground out.

"And?" she asked, thinking he was worse than any Slytherin she'd ever met.

His face lifted, revealing eyes that were dark with rage and betrayal. "He's his mother's son."

She didn't know what to say to that.

_***!*** Earlier___

"What are we going to do?" Rabastan asked.

Rodolphus looked at brother and snorted. "I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm going to sink my cock inside of her tight little pussy every chance I get," he said.

Antonin made a face. "How charming," he drawled.

Rabastan looked at his brother. "You don't feel anything for her?" He was mildly irritated at the elder Lestrange.

Severus smirked at Rabastan and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Of course he does, but he would prefer to be crass," he chided Rodolphus indirectly.

Rodolphus sneered, but didn't say anything. His silence spoke volumes about the truthfulness of Severus' words.

"The Dark Lord will need to speak with the Potter boy soon," Antonin said.

Severus nodded. "I saw his father walking in the direction we left Hermione."

"What do you think he's up to?" Rodolphus asked his voice serious.

Antonin shook his head.

Severus took a breath. "I must go…"

They all felt it; a call – a whisper – a tug. It was a shift in the air, an inclination to walk out the door and make their way down the hall in silence. There was no conscious thought; it was a mental image of Hermione singing; the face of their witch beckoning them.

They opened the door quietly and peered inside. The Dark Lord and James Potter were sitting in a trance while the angel in pink sat and sang.

Her voice settled around them like a warm blanket.

When she ended the last note, her body stopped swaying and she opened her eyes.

Rodolphus opened his mouth to explain when Voldemort greeted them, but was halted with a motion of his skeletal finger.

She kissed them all softly, leaving them smiling and backing out of the room.

"I must leave. I'll be back as soon as I can," Severus said, checking his watch.

"The Order?" Antonin asked.

Severus sighed. "The Order."

Rodolphus shook his head. Severus hated meeting with the group of do-gooders. They fancied themselves superior to all for all of their 'equality for all'; as if the world were as black and white as that. It was rather tiresome, feeding their egos, when they only presented a minor threat.

The young Potter was a different story altogether. Just then, the devil arrived. "Mr. Potter," Antonin greeted with distaste.

"Dolohov," Harry sneered. "Where's 'Mione?"

Rodolphus stepped forward and eyed the boy, daring him to draw his wand.

Rabastan spoke, interrupting the face off. "She's with our Lord, Potter… and your father." Rabastan smirked evilly. His grin broadened when Harry's face paled in response.

Antonin quirked the side of his lip. "Shall I interrupt on your behalf, then?"

Harry was looking at the floor and shaking his head. "N- no," he stuttered and exited the room. His secret would be revealed soon enough and then he'd have to face Hermione.

He needed to get out… now.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I own nothing_.

Hermione walked back to her room and ran the bath. She needed a long bath after meeting with James Potter. In her opinion, though she felt unqualified to pass judgment after only one meeting, he was but a mere shell of the man he used to be. She decided that as soon as she could, she'd reunite him with Remus.

She smiled as she disrobed, and wiggled her fingers in the water, testing its temperature. She missed Remus. He was sweet and intelligent and her friend. They no longer felt awkward around each other. They'd got sauced together on more than one occasion and seeing someone in a drunken state generally pushes Professor/student propriety aside and makes way for friendship.

Stepping gingerly into the steaming tub, her mind made the connection to the Marauders. They weren't the Marauders without Sirius.

It was strange, the way that Sirius and Hermione had connected. She'd rescued him her third year and once settled, he'd owled her twice a week. It started out as thank you notes, but quickly turned into sweet words of encouragement, stories of his time at Hogwarts and how he felt about being cooped up as a fugitive.

Hermione and Remus were the only two individuals who knew where he'd been hiding for the first six months after his escape. Remus couldn't be seen carrying baskets of goodies out in public - too 'Big, Bad Wolfish' and he was being watched. Hermione had volunteered and taken food, books and papers to Sirius in a cave somewhere in the English mountains. It'd been tricky getting there. She'd had to Floo around, slowly getting closer to her destination Floo and then had to walk a kilometer to the cave. It was tiring and so she had taken to making sure she brought enough food for two.

For nearly two years, they'd communicated, building a lasting friendship.

He'd asked that she not tell Harry and she thought she understood why. He was possessive of his Godfather and wasn't ready to share him just yet.

Sirius, in one of his last owls to her, had expressed concern over Harry's growing obsession with her. Sirius worried that Harry saw Hermione as his savior and warned her to be careful for a while; he believed Harry was exhibiting some traits that Sirius recognized as dangerous.

Hermione had responded with her usual humor when dealing with the rather dramatic Azkaban escapee and brushed off the warning. Sirius had died three weeks later at the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione settled in the water, letting it take her worries away. She'd gone running in the meadows behind the large manor and her muscles were starting to ache.

Tom had told her that meditation helped him focus his magic and gave her a few tips to do the same. She decided that there was no time like the present as her mind was heavy with concern for her friends, the war, her new found lineage, her lovers, her half-brother, her nephew (_she snorted at Draco being her nephew_), and the death that still surrounded them.

She felt her magic swirl around her. It was strong and assertive and she was amazed at it. Her magic seemed to be an almost sentient being.

Harry walked the grounds in a quiet state of panic. He didn't know what to do. Hermione was more than he thought she was and now he was going to have to take action in order to get the girl. He needed to talk to Voldemort.

As he walked back, he remembered the first time he'd seen the resurrected Dark Lord.

_Harry - fourth year__**  
**_  
Harry was hiding behind a large tombstone. "Come out, Mr. Potter." The tone was final and the voice was filled with authority.

Harry sighed and stood. Trembling, he walked to stand in front of the terrifying wizard.

He swallowed and watched the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters watch him. It was a strange moment. Harry couldn't read anything in the faces of the wizards present. The calm, even tones of Lord Voldemort drew him out of his pensive state. "It doesn't have to be this way, Mr. Potter," he coaxed, walking barefoot, stepping closer to Harry.

"What do you mean?"

"We needn't be enemies. I can give you power, riches, the woman, or women, of your dreams," he hedged, looking deep into the green eyes of Harry Potter.

Harry felt pressure in his head, but didn't focus on it; he could barely understand the message the snake-like man was conveying, he was so caught up in the wizard's red eyes.

Flashes of Hermione passed through his mind's eye as the last words sank in.

"Woman of my dreams?" he repeated. He was young, but he knew what he wanted; he had always known. Hermione had always been special to him, ever since she'd taken the blame for the Troll incident, but over the last two and a half years, he'd found that he held feelings for her that went beyond just friends. Nothing had jolted him into action like having to watch her dance and laugh with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball.

Voldemort smiled. "Yesss," he hissed.

Harry, feeling fuzzy and wanting approval, nodded. It was disjointed and uncertain, but the Dark Lord wasn't going to argue. He wanted the boy on his side.

He could feel the youth wanting to ask a question, so he bowed slightly, giving Harry permission to speak. "What do I have to do?" He was worried, he didn't want to kill anyone or do anything to harm his friends.

Lord Voldemort turned to Lucius Malfoy, who bowed respectfully and stepped forward. "Nothing. This ...meeting will be our little secret and the Dark Lord will send a message to you when it's time. For now, you'll act normally, revealing nothing of what you now know, with the exception of sharing the Dark Lord's return with Dumbledore."

Harry sighed in relief, but his momentary reprieve was cut short when he spied the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory. "Take his body back with you, child. Tell them Wormtail's aim was off and that the curse was meant for you. Mr. Diggory saved your life." After the Dark Lord spoke, Harry offered him a smile of thanks. He was comfortable with this story.

Harry wondered briefly why he wasn't more upset by the death of a school mate. Granted, he was a Hufflepuff, but still, Cedric was murdered right in front of him.

Lucius looked at Rodolphus Lestrange and the two shared a look. The Potter boy was staring at the dead body with no emotion. It was a strange thing to see a Gryffindor so incredibly stoic.

Voldemort was reeling a bit at the event; to him, it was just last night that he'd put Potter in a Stasis, rid the world of Lily Evans, and been reduced to a spirit by their young son.

Lily Evans. She was an enigma to most. Seemingly caring and thoughtful, when in reality, she was treacherous. Lily had plotted with Sirius, urged him to set up Severus that fateful full moon after he had refused her advances.

It was lucky that Severus wasn't killed or bitten by the young werewolf.

Her deeds continued to be blamed on others, because acknowledging that the Gryffindor was less than noble with her pretty smile and warm demeanor, was unthinkable.

She'd made contact with Voldemort three nights before she was killed. She was tired of James, of being married, of being a mother. She wanted riches and power. Voldemort had advised her to make Peter Pettigrew their Secret Keeper after she'd informed him of their plans for hiding.

She'd happily done so, against the Order's wishes.

Lily was expecting the Dark Lord that October night, but what she didn't expect was the inclusion of her demise in the plans for the evening.

Finally, Harry moved to stand beside Cedric and looked to Voldemort for direction. The dark wizard Accio'd the Portkey with a silent wave of his hand. "Once you touch this, you'll be transported back to the start of the maze."

Harry nodded and took a deep breath. Aiming his wand, he said, "Accio Portkey."

They disappeared and the Dark Lord's sudden guffaw raised the hair on the backs of the necks of everyone there.

_**End Flashback**_

Harry had fed information to the Death Eaters since then. He had allowed the mental connection and was instructed in that manner.

Fifth year, Harry, growing increasingly possessive and jealous, had read one of Hermione's many owls. It had been from Sirius. He'd watched her for days afterward and when she left with a basket, he knew it was for his Godfather. Anger flared and raged inside of him; not at Hermione, but at his Godfather. He vowed to put an end to their relationship.

He'd lucked out with being caught in Umbridges office and when Snape walked in, he'd taken a chance that the Professor would tell Dumbledore.

He knew Hermione would get them out of there. She was quick on her feet and it was just another reason why he loved her.

During the battle, Harry'd inched towards the Veil, thinking that Sirius would follow him. He had and when Harry had called out, Sirius diverted his attention from Bellatrix. She'd taken the opportunity and stunned the wizard. With a slight nudge from Harry, his Godfather stumbled into the Veil.

Harry watched with relief as Sirius fell through into oblivion, but not before Sirius' look of complete surprise at the smug expression Harry was wearing. Oh, he'd reacted appropriately; sobbing and wailing with despair. Lupin came over to 'hold him back' from rushing in. It was perfect.

Harry envisioned that in the end, he would sit with Hermione, on the beach, listening to her sing and knowing that she was his. They wouldn't need anything and all the Order members who had tried to tell him what to do would not be of any concern any longer.

It was during his sixth year that he began understanding the importance of pure magic; it was the pureblood families who held the history and ancestry necessary to perform strong spells. They kept the magical world resilient and functional. He'd immediately decided that Hermione's parentage could be overlooked. He could and would do that for her, but now, he didn't need to. She was a Siren and Veela; of pure magic blood.

He sighed. He would have to tell her the reason they'd been captured. He'd also, eventually, need to tell her about Lupin, Tonks, McGonagall, and now, Viktor Krum. The Bulgarian was tortured and killed last eve. Perhaps, he'd enlist the assistance of Snape to brew a light love potion. He'd give it to her for a short time; just until she wasn't angry at him anymore.

_Probably wouldn't need to tell her about Ron. Some things were better left unsaid_, he thought.

He smiled. That was the plan.

Hermione's magic was swirling and sailing. It dipped and dove, touching her wizards. It was close to an out of body experience to feel them feel her.

She knew they'd each turned to expect her, but found nothing.

Antonin's magic had actually reached back to hers. Kissing lightly, their magic had connected and she'd shivered; even inside of her warm porcelain womb.

Suddenly, she frowned. Her skin felt prickly and sharp. Her magic recognized Harry's. He was not in the dungeons. She focused and realized that he was near the foyer.

Calling her magic back and splashing to get out of the water, she climbed from the tub. She took hurried little steps so as not to slip until she reached the carpet. Wrapped in a towel and flipping through her dresser, her door opened and in stepped a most unexpected visitor.

"Don't you knock?" she snapped, wrapping the towel tighter and continued her quick perusal of her dresser.

"I must speak with you. Please, forgive my rude interruption," Lucius said, sitting on a chair across the room. He eyed her curiously.

She turned around, holding two pieces of lacy material. Lucius randomly thought that the periwinkle color would become her, but then pushed that thought from his head. They were siblings.

"Excuse me while I dress."

He nodded as she stepped behind an old fashioned screen with pictures of women sitting in a garden having tea. He eyed the large tomes, he'd sent the day before. They were filled with Malfoy family historical information that Hermione needed to understand.

Not liking the silence she prompted, "To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?"

He smiled at her formality. "There are things about our family you should know; particular magic that we possess and that are not shared within other pureblood communities."

That sparked her attention and she paused. He took that as encouragement to continue. "My father was a full blooded Veela. The Malfoy line carries with it the ability to cast spells with a darker intent."

She frowned. "Can't all witches and wizards cast dark spells?"

"Yes, but they must practice. Malfoys are uniquely suited to will another's fate. As a Siren, your ability to drive those around you mad will amplify this aptitude."

She huffed and walked out from behind the screen fully dressed. "I don't drive those around me crazy. If me or my magic rejects them then madness is simply a consequence."

He flicked his wrist at her and stretched his lips. "If you say so."

For some reason his aloof manner made her laugh. The side of his lip twitched upward at her mirth. She realized with some surprise that he had been teasing her. Their eyes met and another silent understanding passed between them.

Hermione looked forward to spending some time with the elder Malfoy, getting to know him.

She looked at her watch. "I'm sorry, but I must go find Harry."

He face turned hard and his eyes shifted. "Be wary, Miss..." He wasn't entirely sure what to call her. His stumble caused her to question her name as well. "Malfoy," she slowly supplied him.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, but she could see he was pleased. "Miss Malfoy."

"Be wary of who?" she asked, returning to his warning.

He sniffed and lifted his head to look down at her. "Mr. Potter." With a billow of robes, he left. She was confused, but didn't want to put anymore thought into it until she found Harry.

Running down the stairs and turning to the right, she followed her magic to where she'd felt him. She caught sight of him walking into the room that she had met his father.

On the verge of barging right in, something told her to wait. She leaned near the door, which was conveniently left ajar, and listened to the conversation.

"I need to see her," Harry said.

"Will you be sharing your... exploits with her?"

Harry didn't respond.

"I'm sure our lovely little songbird would be interested to find out that because of you-"

"Don't say it," Harry interrupted.

Voldemort smiled and shifted in his seat.

"Why do you care about her?" Harry asked, sensing the strong wizard's soft spot for Hermione.

"She is a powerful witch, Mr. Potter. I can use her. She's fiercely loyal and relatively easy to please. She will be able to woo our enemies to our side without bloodshed and little rebellion." Harry thought the wizard sounded smitten with her.

"She'll never do that for you," Harry countered, certain that she would never follow a maniac.

Voldemort didn't react with anger, only with an expression that said he knew something Harry didn't.

"Do you believe she'll follow you once she learns, Mr. Potter?"

He straightened. "Yes. She's mine. You promised."

Antonin rounded the corner to see his witch pressed against a wall with her ear close to the door. He smirked. She was eavesdropping and not doing a great job of it. He took a moment to look at her. She was dressed in a gray skirt with a form fitting winter white sweater. Both garments hugged her curves. Her knee-high boots were black and heeled, making Antonin want to carry her back to their room.

She felt his presence the moment he stopped walking. She liked that he was watching her and decided to give him a reward for flattering her. While keeping her ear to the door, she reached down and pulled up her skirt, revealing a silky thigh. She scratched casually and dropped her skirt back down to just above her knees.

He walked quietly and pressed his erection into her backside. Reaching down, he pulled up the back of her skirt and squeezed her bum. He ripped her pretty periwinkle lace knickers off and slapped the other hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp.

Kicking her legs apart, he pushed a finger into her rosebud, cast a _Silencio_ charm over her, and removed his hand from her mouth. Sweat was already glistening on her forehead and her eyes were closed.

Pushing in and out, he noticed that her hips began to pump as well. Antonin reached around and flicked her clit. He couldn't take it anymore and pulled her away from the open door to an alcove that was hidden away from the main hallway.

He pushed her against the wall and dropped to his knees. Biting her inner thighs, the pain jarred her senses, making the pleasure more intense. He continued to bite and lick at her. He spread her lips and sucked at her sex.

His tongue worked magic, and she came with a visible burst of energy surrounding the two. He lapped every drop of her essence, but he wasn't done. Antonin stood roughly, turning her around and then pushing her head down so that she was bent over.

Spread apart and exposed to him, she didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed.

She just wanted him to make her come again. To fill her.

He pulled her apart to look at the pink of her pussy and rub the soft skin of her puckered star. He wanted to taste. Bending over, placing his lips at her virgin opening, he licked the area then pushed forward. The slurping sound and the feeling of his warm, wet, and quite talented tongue, working inside of her arse, made her pant and moan, though it was silent.

"I need you," he said in a rushed tone. He could smell her on his lips and felt an urgency to crawl inside of her. He wanted to let her warmth envelop him; protect him; soothe him.

She braced herself against the wall with her hand while he pulled out his erection. She could see it from between her legs. Long and thick, she wanted to feel it inside of her, stretching and pushing and hitting every sensitive spot she had.

She was nodding now as he stroked himself while fucking her arse with his finger. He would occasionally flick her clit making her bones weak.

He positioned the head of his weeping cock at her entrance and pushed inside. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back in ecstasy. Pulling out almost all the way, he pushed back in with force.

He set a slow rhythm, alternating ins and outs with his finger still in her bottom.

His movement became erratic and hard. He wanted to come and her matching rhythm indicated she did too.

Antonin's next move, pulling out and flipping her around to land with her legs around

his waist and impaling her on his cock with one motion, had her sighing. He bucked against her, penetrating her and rubbing against the swollen bead of muscle.

It didn't take long after he started kissing her for them to come.

They stayed there, panting and sweating, still joined. Their foreheads touching, she reached up to card her fingers through his hair. She opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head. "I love you," he said. It was quietly whispered and the tone was defeated. She almost laughed out loud at how resigned he sounded.

She was surprised and flattered and excited and wanton. They were the last three words that she expected would come out of his mouth. She must have been gaping, because he gave her a crooked smile and kissed her.

He cast a cleansing charm, straightened her skirt and his trousers, and nodded towards the room while he walked past.

She smiled and bounced to the room, forgetting that she had been spying earlier. Hermione breezed in and found Harry spitting mad. "Harry?" she asked.

"Hermione," he breathed. "Come with me," he said, holding out his hand to her.

Without thinking, she slid her hand in his. "Where are we going?"

"Home," he told her and started pulling.

It dawned on her that he was clean and healthy looking, much like she was.

"Home," she repeated and then stopped walking. She didn't want to go 'home'. She liked it here, but for some reason, she had completely forgotten that Harry would want to go home. She wasn't sure how something that major had slipped her mind, but it did and now she felt ashamed of herself.

"Why are you here, with - with..." she asked not knowing how to refer to Voldemort in mixed company. 'My Lord' was out of the question, but she felt it was mildly disrespectful to call him 'Voldemort' in his presence. It's just the way she was raised.

"Him," Harry hissed.

She nodded.

Harry swallowed and let go of her hand. He placed his hands on his head and scratched violently for a moment. He stopped and looked at her then turned on his heel and bolted out the door.

She was gobsmacked. She looked from the door to Voldemort and back to the door again. "Sir?"

"There are things that Mr. Potter and you must discuss, Miss Malfoy. Perhaps you should -" His message was interrupted by the blood-curdling scream coming from outside. Hermione ran out the door, down the hall, through the kitchens and out onto the patio, where Harry was pointing his wand downward with an expression of pure rage on his face.

As she neared, with wizards following behind her, she saw where the screams were coming from. Harry was casting the Cruciatus curse on his father. James was writhing around the ground, screaming in pain.

Hermione was appalled and tackled Harry from a full out sprint. They hit the ground with a thud. She'd knocked the wind out of him so when she stood, he was still trying to breathe. She kicked him for good measure and stood there with chest heaving and tears streaming down her cheeks.

She felt magic surround her and realized that Severus was back and he'd cast a Scourgify on her dirtied clothes. Most of her wizards were wearing smirks and expressions of pride. Even Voldemort looked on with humor in his red eyes. The others looked surprised.

Hermione's magic was pulsing and electrifying. Voldemort smiled as the air thickened with her anger.

Harry finally recovered and stood. He pointed at the Dark Lord and began yelling. "It's all his fault, Hermione! He - he made me spy and promised me everything. I didn't want anyone to die and then..." He stopped a moment to catch his breath and compose his thoughts. Screaming didn't work with Hermione.

That thought gave him pause. Many things didn't work with Hermione. He was constantly changing for her, trying to make her happy and she hadn't even noticed. She'd made him distract his Godfather; she'd made him get rid of Ron; she'd made him arrange for the Order ambush by revealing the safe house. She made him do these things so that he could end up with her.

So she would recognize him. But she never did.

They all watched the emotions cross his face; the anger, the rage, the disappointment. It was all there.

"Harry, what about Ron?" She realized that Harry had had something to do with it.

He leveled her with a gaze that said it all.

Her lips trembled for a second and her wizards were prepared to gather up a sobbing witch, but she surprised them all by asking another question. Her voice was deeper and her magic was palpable. "Who else, Harry?"

"Remus, and some other Order members. Viktor." He paused before saying the last name. "Sirius."

She gasped and her fists clenched. He tried to explain, but she wasn't having it. "Hermione, it was for you. It was all for you. We couldn't have been together with all those others in the way! Please, Hermione."

She glared at him and started to sing. It was Latin, with dips and long words in the song. It pierced his ears and made his skin tingle. Her magic swirled like a hurricane; strong and heavy, the breeze picked up and the wizards in the room found it difficult to breathe.

Antonin, Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Severus felt their skin tingle, but her voice soothed them. It made them want her. Rodolphus knew he would protect her and give her anything she wanted. He was ready to kill Potter for upsetting her. He looked at her again, upset was not the word, but it was what he had.

Lucius felt her magic as well, but he was focusing on her song. She was cursing the Potter boy. _Good girl. I'm glad she read those family tomes I sent_.

She was relegating Harry to a life without her, to feel what she felt with no satisfaction, the hear her voice and know that she wasn't around. She was cursing him to life in the shadows.

Lucius was quite proud.

Hermione opened her arms and stopped the song. Her magic died down enough for her to be heard. "You and I will not ever be together, Harry. I reject you. My magic rejects you. You will never feel satisfaction, physically or emotionally, but you will feel the hints of happiness. You'll hear me, but not see me. Harry, I curse you to life in the shadow of the living."

The magic soared from her fingers into his body. They watched him jerk with penetration and then he fell to his knees, panting and crying.

She turned and walked into the arms of her wizards, who engulfed her in their embrace. She didn't look back until she heard the unearthly laughter of Voldemort. "Well done, Miss Malfoy, well done."

Fire flooded her system. This... _thing_ had caused so much heartache, so many tears. It was time to put it to an end.

"Hermione," Lucius warned, but she couldn't hear him.

She began to sing, her eyes glowed golden and once again, her magic swirled in tiny hurricanes touching ground then bouncing across the room.

Wind, heat and rain pelted the patio as flowers and plants were unearthed.

She sang and sang and ended the song with _Fiendfyre_.

She had pulled the bits of his soul from where they hid and merged them into one with her song. Once whole, Voldemort was burned by the Fyre and turned to ash.

The magic returned to her body, but her eyes remained aglow. She could see the wizards and the witches kneel; silently vowing their sovereignty to her. "My Lady," Severus said from his lowered position.

She nodded in acknowledgement and smirked at the scene in front of her. "I require rest, Severus. Won't you escort me?"

He nodded and stood, holding his elbow out for her. She was a new woman. A powerful witch, who, with the release of her magic and demonstration of power, liberated herself. Her magic kissed her wizards and they dutifully followed.

She paused at the door. "Lucius?"

"My Lady?" he said.

"Will you clean this... mess and arrange the rank and file. Things are going to get very bumpy for some."

He smiled. "Yes, my Lady."

She blew a kiss to Draco and he practically twittered with excitement. With her action towards him, it gave him the allowance to help his father. A responsibility he was excited to perform.

She laid down with her wizards around her.

"Changes, my Lady?" Antonin asked, sighing when she placed her flat palm against his chest.

She nodded. "Many changes."

The wizards shared a look and then closed their eyes.

_**Ten years later**__**  
**_  
With Hermione replacing Voldemort, the war ended with a sigh. The resistance trusted her and his followers followed her. The ones that hadn't were killed. Just a year after Hermione had cursed him, Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, killed himself in a fit of anguish. His body was given to the Weasley's for burial.

Most would not have expected the Ministry to be run the way that she was running it.

She began with forming The Guild. Most were former Death Eaters. They were highly intelligent beings devoted to her. Together they assessed the budgets, wages earned, productivity and job performance. She trimmed those who hadn't earned a 'satisfactory' for three years in a row and put on probation those who hadn't reached that rating for two or more. Under Hermione's rule, they assigned fields of work according to tests that The Guild developed.

She plucked the brightest and most motivated to work in departments, developing products Muggles could use in order to expand the revenue for the wizarding world as well as trade with other wizarding communities.

Once the economy was booming, she focused on students. Muggle-borns were notified at their first experience of magic and evaluated for two years.

If their souls consistently fought against the magic, resulting in inaccurate spells and weak magic, they were sent to a Blue Mage to have their magic sent back into the earth and the children were then returned to their Muggle families.

She ruled with strict obedience for 95 years before she stepped down, leaving her legacy to her only daughter: Majesty Snape.

_**The End**_.


End file.
